


Dark Night; Warm Hands

by DovahDoes



Series: Adventures in Alvainia [2]
Category: The Shrine (2010)
Genre: Don't worry-- I'll slowly add my self-indulgent fic to the ranks here, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Liberal use of google translate, M/M, Nightmares, No Smut, Obscure Fandoms 101, Rare Fandoms, Rare Pairings, anyway, not in this one anyway, with a focus in
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-18
Updated: 2018-01-18
Packaged: 2019-03-05 08:39:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13384179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DovahDoes/pseuds/DovahDoes
Summary: Marcus left Alvainia, but ended up coming back.  And staying.There's some weirdness stirring with a certain cursed relic, but in the meantime, someone utters those all-important 'three words' to someone else semi-inadvertently.ORMarcus has a shitty night of sleep and Henryk does, too, by extension, but all's well in their home by the end.





	Dark Night; Warm Hands

**Author's Note:**

  * For [EverTheDreamer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EverTheDreamer/gifts).



> I had writer's block, and this is what happened in the process of unsticking myself. Because I like to make Bad Decisions, I ended up banging out this little fic for an obscure fandom in which I've never written. #nice
> 
> If you're looking for an update on my other works/series, they're in the works, but in the meantime, lemme' indulge in this pairing and fandom that virtually nobody else cares about. <3 Haha.
> 
> Just. Both the smol(ish) and the tol(er) are angry and Ready 2 Fight™, but one is actually woefully unprepared for actual combat. (Hint: it's the tol.) _Ugh_. ♥

 

The forest floor is ice cold and unyielding at Marcus’ back, and his vision is swirling and speckled with an encroaching blackness, even as his gaze is unwillingly hyper **-** fixated on the awful sight before him.  His legs kick out uselessly— weakly— in aborted attempts to dislodge the attacker who crouches over him.  All the while, the creature’s gigantic, leathery wings intermittently beat at the air, as if aquiver with excitement.

 

Prussian blue eyes that have begun to roll back in their sockets are brought to refocus on the horrifying visage above him.

 

“ _Look at me, boy!”_ it orders, voice all at once nauseating and yet unnaturally captivating.

 

Just like that, he is helpless but to obey the command, and his will to escape is being subsumed— swallowed whole by some strange, creeping mixture of terror and complacency.

 

Black, voidlike sclerae are only interrupted by vermilion irises that surround dark pupils, and the being’s gaze is so intense that it sears right through any stray thoughts he might try to grasp onto in order to escape this awful reality.

 

The heavily ridged, repulsive set of features serve to further narrow down his brain functions to not much else but inescapable dread; his hands fall nerveless to the ground, ceasing their ineffective attempts to dislodge the literal stranglehold the murderous creature maintains about his throat.

 

“P-please,” he mouths soundlessly, pulse pounding loudly in his ears as he fails to take in even a whisper of fresh air.  His lungs are aflame, and a dark, syrupy voice draws his waning, vignetted vision back down to the leering face hovering close to his own.  Rows of razor-sharp teeth gleam red with blood that he can feel slowly dripping onto his chilled, gradually numbing skin.

 

“Help them, Marcus,” it coos, mockingly, before easily applying more force to its deadly grip.  An awful, loud snap is heard and then there is blinding agony, and—

 

*

 

Marcus jackknifes awake, gasping and trembling in disoriented and directionless terror, the cloying darkness of the space around him seeming to simultaneously press in on him and yet stretch on endlessly.  The touch of a calloused hand at his elbow elicits a predictable flinch from him, even as the grip glides up gently to wrap about his wrist and pull his hand down and away from his neck, which he had unknowingly been clutching quite firmly.

 

“ _Mareczek.  Się uspokoić_ — is only you and I, here.”  _(Marcus, calm down.)_

 

A choked-off sound issues itself from Marcus’ throat before he realizes it, something desperately relieved but still unmistakably wounded, and he chuckles wetly into the trembling palm of his unoccupied hand.  Sliding it a few inches up leaves it resting over the upper portion of his face and covering his embarrassingly wet eyes.

 

“Mmph,” the scratchy voice behind him grunts, accompanied by the sounds of shifting sheets and the sensation of movement at his side.  “ _Chodź tutaj_.  Lay with me.  Is more comfortable, hm?” _(Come [here].)_

 

Swallowing convulsively and trying to ignore the way his breath keeps hitching in his throat, the younger man bites his lip and allows his bedpartner to gently tug him back down into a horizontal position.  Almost as soon as his back hits the bedding, again, Marcus hiccups once into the pitch blackness before him, before turning onto his side and shuffling in close to Henryk, who soothingly shushes him even as he falls apart.

 

The Alvainian native, although often stoic and taciturn by nature, has a rather big soft spot for those close to him, and is always particularly sympathetic to his lover’s ongoing struggle with trauma from his turbulent introductory experiences in their little hamlet.

 

“Shh, sh-sh-sh— _jeste_ _ś tu bezpieczny ze mn_ _ą._ Calm, calm.” _(You are safe here with me.)_

 

Only a few minutes later, Marcus’ head clears a bit, and he finds that he has managed to burrow his way almost as close to the other man as possible— head buried against his warm chest, hands twisted up in his soft nightshirt, and long legs intertwined amongst his.

 

As always happens after one of his nightmares, he is overcome by both a wave of mortification (at himself) and an equally strong swell of gratitude (for his boyfriend).  That and a strange sort of drowsy lassitude that can only be achieved by his having a good panic cry at the usual non-specific, godsforsaken, middle-of-the-night hour.

 

Ugh.   _Shit_ — the poor guy’s circadian rhythm must have been taking quite a beating since Marcus moved in some months ago.  Even with his mind moving perhaps more slowly than usual, and straying far closer to being asleep than awake, he’s still positive he can muster up some sort of thanks or apology or explanation or _something_ for his surely exhausted lover.

 

“Henryk. _Love you_.”

 

The hands that have been alternating between holding him close and soothingly running up and down his sides stop for a long moment, and Marcus curses his terminal inability to ever time his ‘I love you’s to more suitable scenarios.  Hearteningly, though, the long, tranquilizing caresses resume only a few seconds later.

 

“Mm, _mój kochanie_ ”, _(my love/dear)_ the sleep-husky voice chuckles, warm air caressing a portion of his hair, near where Henryks’s chin rests.  “Me too.  Please, now, _idź spać_ , hm?” _(sleep/go to sleep)_

 

Unable to resist the simple request— what with the reciprocated romantic interest and all, and especially as he is already very much wiped out from his harrowing evening— Marcus simply does just that.  A soft kiss is pressed against his unruly curls as he burrows in just that little bit closer to the other man’s super-heated body.  In the span of a half-dozen gusty breaths, he is drifting off into a dreamless sleep, warm and content as can be, his lover following soon after.

 

*

 

In a forest not so far away, in the thick of an opaque, low-hanging cloud, an innocuous, small chunk of stone falls from a certain timeworn statue.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Please forgive any wildly inaccurate bits of Polish-- I deeefinitely used Google Translate for several phrases.  I'd love to include a guide for pronunciation, here, but there's not much of that to be found, except for that nickname/diminutive of Marcus' name  _(Mareczek_ _\- ma-ra-check, or rather ma-da-check, kind of, since the 'r' is flipped)_   and the endearment ( _mój kochanie - muj kɔˈxa.ɲɛ / moy co-ha-nyeh_ ).

 

For anything else, just hit up google (or try [Forvo](https://forvo.com/) for native speakers saying words).

**Author's Note:**

> Woomp, there it is. This is utterly self-indulgent, as I think my best friend and I make up the entirety of any sort of 'fandom' for this movie. Hahaha. And now that it's no longer on Netflix, it will likely stay that way forever. #ohwell  
> *
> 
> Come check out [my writing blog](https://dovahdoeswrite.tumblr.com/), where I post early fic snippets and keep you updated on what i'm working on in what fandoms!
> 
> Kudos and comments are love: feel free to leave me some, kind readers~. (ღˇ◡ˇ)~♥


End file.
